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Authors: Rosalind Brett
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little colony the other side of the wharves when you first came to Kanos?”
Pat nodded frankly. “In the traders’ set tl ement. My father was a keen trader till he joined up with Mr. Farland.”
“Is there so much money in trading?” Mrs. Reynolds glanced about her.
“Not these days.”
“Are you staying in Kanos?”
“For a while.” Pat smiled. “I like Africa.”
“Perhaps you’re built to stand it. Some are—but not many women. I shall be glad when my husband’s time is up.” Mrs. Reynolds gave a weary little smile. “I suppose you realize that your household is rather unusual? Have you any women friends in the town?”
“None. I’m afraid I haven’t found the time to make any.”
The other hesitated. “We must meet now and again, Miss Brading,” she said. “I’ll invite you to one of our bridge parties.”
Pat didn’t play bridge, but she murmured an appropriate reply and knew that it would be some time before the wife of the Governor’s secretary made further overtures.
Steve still wrote regularly, and one evening Pat mentioned him to her father. “He writes to say he’s co m ing out to see us.”
Bill gave her a considering look. “Would you like that, kitten?”
“I’ve always been fond of Steve,” she replied.
“Well,” he said, “you’re only twenty. Look around a bit before you hook up with anyone. It’s a queer business, marriage, and the devil of a job to get out of once you’re in. It’s a good thing Steve came to his senses and got shot of that wax-lily of a Celia. She wouldn’t have given him more than a perpetual toothache with all that empty sweet-talk of hers. A man wants a sparring partner, not a sort of social orchid to deck his dining table.”
“That’s a long speech for you, Bill.” Pat smiled affectionately at her father. “I’ll m a ke do with you for the time being. Marriage can wait a while longer.”
Bill regarded her from the depths of his chair, where he was smoking his old briar and filling the room with its pungent smoke. Pat was sitting atop a cushion like a pixie. “Have you missed Steve since you’ve been out here—it’s a full year, kitten?”
“I—don’t know, Dad. I’ve never known him here, have I? He doesn’t belong here.” She looked distressed at the thought.
“Don’t go worrying, kitten,” Bill gave her a wink.
“You’ll know how you feel as soon as you see him again. Here, this will amuse you—they’re proposing me for the club.” He gave his rolling laugh. “That’ll make you a guest-member. I tell you, Pat, in a year or two Brading will be the best-known name in Kanos.”
In the days that followed Pat enjoyed some social life. She rode with young club members, played tennis, and attended tea dances. It was as though she experienced a rare compulsion for company; as though to be alone would bring thoughts she was unable to bear just at present.
Then on a brassy morning at the end of January, Bill, who had gone out an hour before, sent back a messenger with a note asking that his white suit be pressed before he returned for lunch. At midday he came in bubbling with high spirits.
“There’s a liner at the bar,” he informed Pat. “They’ve a couple of baby elephants aboard and I had an invitation to go out and see them. Make yourself pretty and come along.”
At three o’clock she accompanied her father to the beach.
“We’ll go in one of our own canoes,” he said, and yelled to a boy to bring one down to the water.
It was wet and muddy inside—they nearly always were — an d Bill said grumblingly that Pat couldn’t sit in her best bib and tucker in that mess. “You hang on,” he added. “Cliff will see that you get a clean one. I’ll stand in this!”
His boys shoved off, and Pat cooled her heels impatien tl y as Cliff chivvied two more boys into draining and mopping another boat into some semblance of tidiness, while he sent to his own house for cushions.
The richly verdured
Pat nodded frankly. “In the traders’ set tl ement. My father was a keen trader till he joined up with Mr. Farland.”
“Is there so much money in trading?” Mrs. Reynolds glanced about her.
“Not these days.”
“Are you staying in Kanos?”
“For a while.” Pat smiled. “I like Africa.”
“Perhaps you’re built to stand it. Some are—but not many women. I shall be glad when my husband’s time is up.” Mrs. Reynolds gave a weary little smile. “I suppose you realize that your household is rather unusual? Have you any women friends in the town?”
“None. I’m afraid I haven’t found the time to make any.”
The other hesitated. “We must meet now and again, Miss Brading,” she said. “I’ll invite you to one of our bridge parties.”
Pat didn’t play bridge, but she murmured an appropriate reply and knew that it would be some time before the wife of the Governor’s secretary made further overtures.
Steve still wrote regularly, and one evening Pat mentioned him to her father. “He writes to say he’s co m ing out to see us.”
Bill gave her a considering look. “Would you like that, kitten?”
“I’ve always been fond of Steve,” she replied.
“Well,” he said, “you’re only twenty. Look around a bit before you hook up with anyone. It’s a queer business, marriage, and the devil of a job to get out of once you’re in. It’s a good thing Steve came to his senses and got shot of that wax-lily of a Celia. She wouldn’t have given him more than a perpetual toothache with all that empty sweet-talk of hers. A man wants a sparring partner, not a sort of social orchid to deck his dining table.”
“That’s a long speech for you, Bill.” Pat smiled affectionately at her father. “I’ll m a ke do with you for the time being. Marriage can wait a while longer.”
Bill regarded her from the depths of his chair, where he was smoking his old briar and filling the room with its pungent smoke. Pat was sitting atop a cushion like a pixie. “Have you missed Steve since you’ve been out here—it’s a full year, kitten?”
“I—don’t know, Dad. I’ve never known him here, have I? He doesn’t belong here.” She looked distressed at the thought.
“Don’t go worrying, kitten,” Bill gave her a wink.
“You’ll know how you feel as soon as you see him again. Here, this will amuse you—they’re proposing me for the club.” He gave his rolling laugh. “That’ll make you a guest-member. I tell you, Pat, in a year or two Brading will be the best-known name in Kanos.”
In the days that followed Pat enjoyed some social life. She rode with young club members, played tennis, and attended tea dances. It was as though she experienced a rare compulsion for company; as though to be alone would bring thoughts she was unable to bear just at present.
Then on a brassy morning at the end of January, Bill, who had gone out an hour before, sent back a messenger with a note asking that his white suit be pressed before he returned for lunch. At midday he came in bubbling with high spirits.
“There’s a liner at the bar,” he informed Pat. “They’ve a couple of baby elephants aboard and I had an invitation to go out and see them. Make yourself pretty and come along.”
At three o’clock she accompanied her father to the beach.
“We’ll go in one of our own canoes,” he said, and yelled to a boy to bring one down to the water.
It was wet and muddy inside—they nearly always were — an d Bill said grumblingly that Pat couldn’t sit in her best bib and tucker in that mess. “You hang on,” he added. “Cliff will see that you get a clean one. I’ll stand in this!”
His boys shoved off, and Pat cooled her heels impatien tl y as Cliff chivvied two more boys into draining and mopping another boat into some semblance of tidiness, while he sent to his own house for cushions.
The richly verdured
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